A Naughty Narcissist's Yuletide Greetings

By Lisa MaligaCopyright 2011-2015

I've decided to include a special excerpt from The Narcissist Chronicles: The WHOLE Story as it contains a wacky Christmas scene. The narcissistic main character, Arlen J. Stevenson, is a Southern zombie author and public speaker. This scene is from a December speaking gig for firefighters and their wives in a small Southern town…

Warning: Rated PG-13!

Well, I needed to get more festive as it was warming up to be a very merry Christmas for me and I thought, well hell, who sang the best Christmas songs in the world? Me! Because I'd just composed Arlen's Christmas Song and it was gonna get a deal with Sony Music next year.

I went back over to my briefcase and pulled out my Lucky Santa cap with the mistletoe attached to it. I removed the first one and put the new one on my head and went over to the mic and pulled it off its stand.

“Ladies and gentlemen--let me make this the best Christmas show you’ve ever attended. Why? Because there is a special Christmas treat for y'all, that’s why! This is an original musical composition!”

I cleared my throat and began singing, "Here's your Christmas present, baby," and smiled, shook my hips a little to warm myself up and began…

“I said, here's your Christmas present, baby…” I was directing my vocal offerings at Daisy, the sexy ol gal in the back of the room and smiled at her, swishing my hips slowly back and forth, hinting that later on in the evening me and her could share some naked rockin’ and rollin’ in my motel room. I wished to hell she read minds, as I was getting hotter than hell thinking of what that ol gal must be like in the sack. She seemed to be grooving on it too, but I thought maybe I should continue on and do something Christmassy first before coming onto her up close and personal-like.

"Are you gonna pull my red ribbon tonight?" I warbled in a loud, musical voice. "Red ribbon…and if I'm lucky you'll take it through the back door…" I went over to the Christmas tree at the back of the stage and admired it as I sang: “Oh I'm your Christmas present, baby…” extending the lyrics, fondling a large gold ornament, but not quite expecting it to crash to the stage floor and break loudly, but not nearly as loud as my strong tenor.

Time to get off the stage, and I switched hands on the mic and walked into the crowd, working it like the paid professional public speaker/singer I proudly am. I began slowly clapping in time to my singing and encouraging the audience to follow me, even clapping my hands above my head a few times. But they just sat there like some of my zombie characters.

I was making my way over to the sexy broad, but I stopped in front of a grandmaesque fat woman with a few tufts of cotton candy blue hair and thought of singing Blue Christmas to her, but decided to keep on singing what I was and I stood kinda close to her and rocked my hips suggestively as I sang. "Once you unwrap me, baby, you won't need Elvis anymore!" But hell, she was too ugly to kiss so I just pretended like the mistletoe wasn’t there as I made my way over to the hottie with the big, nursable boobs.

On my way across the room I continued to sing, smiling at some ol gal in a wheelchair and deciding to flirt with her. I put my hand on the back of her chair. And I made her feel real good by pushing her wheelchair around in slow, sexy circles as I sang, "If I'd've been in Hollywood I'd've been the leading man and Elvis would work at a shoe store."

She seemed a little bluer in the hair and redder in the face so I stopped the ride and by that time I had found my way over to Miss Daisy who was beaming up at me adoringly. Damn, I was gonna be giving her the Christmas love package a little early this year! I stripped off my sport jacket and my hips were a rockin’ back and forth and I sang directly to her "I'm your Christmas present, baby, touch me and watch your present growwwww". I extended my arms to show how much, and was gonna lean on in to the sexiest woman in the room and get my mistletoe over her head and get my reward…

And that’s when some porky ol gal comes up behind me, interrupting me, by informing me: “Thank you Arlen J. Stevenson for your, uh, performance. But it looks like it’s time for our dinner to be served. Please join us!”

I smiled tightly at her and nodded in thanks. Some fat slob who thought dinner was more important than my groinal gratification had just interrupted my spectacular holiday musical performance.

Learn more about this book here: The Narcissist Chronicles: The WHOLE Story